


a kind of magic

by magicmagnus



Series: hogwarts professor au [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Flirting, Fluff, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, Metamorphmagus! Magnus, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Shenanigans, Teacher!Alec, Teacher!Magnus, neither magnus or alec are affected by the love potion tho, say that ten times fast...., they're not together but they sure act like a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12702216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicmagnus/pseuds/magicmagnus
Summary: After teaching at Hogwarts for years, Magnus thought he had seen it all. Dragons smuggled onto campus, students returning at all times of the night with mysterious bruises, a summoning or two -- Magnus was no stranger to the kind of mischief young wizards were capable of. When a powerful love potion begins taking students under its sway, Magnus must get to the bottom of it -- even if it means missing lunch with a certain Defense Against the Dark Arts professor...





	a kind of magic

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Do I get bonus points for the most unoriginal title with the most unoriginal au setting?
> 
> I wanted to do a Hogwarts AU for a while, and I thought it would be infinitely more interesting if Magnus and Alec were professors, rather than students. Magnus is the Potions Master, and Alec teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. This is a fun little piece with a healthy dose of flirting, and a good helping of teacher! Magnus dealing with his students and their shenanigans. I hope you like it! 
> 
> WARNINGS: nothing happens with the love potion, really, but there's obviously consent issues whenever a love potion is brought up. So if even the thought of that makes you uncomfortable, please read with discretion! Love potions obviously aren't condoned in this though, and it really is a lighthearted piece. ALSO, it isn't graphic, but small warning for emetophobia, because a character does throw up a little bit...
> 
> This will most likely be part of a series I update sporadically in my free time. 
> 
> Thank you so much to my sister, decalexas.tumblr.com, for beta reading this!

Magnus Bane was responsible for two hundred and eighty students. _Two hundred and eighty._

Of those, many of them had never touched a wand before being admitted into a wizarding school. The vast majority had been doing magic since childhood, tiny tricks of nonsense triggered by emotional reactions. A few had even been to charms school. But by the time any of them came to Hogwarts, regardless of training, they were all  veritable bundles of magical potential and teenage hormones, and it was hard enough being a teacher responsible for two hundred and eighty students, let alone two hundred and eighty students with _magic._

Accidents were expected. In fact, accidents were encouraged; Magnus welcomed the first instance of a student being sent to the infirmary each year. In his humble opinion (one that Alec found ridiculously superstitious), it set the tone for the year. A minor explosive reaction between two potion ingredients, lightly singed eyebrows? Delightful. It was going to be a fun year with a minimal amount of bodily injury and a healthy dose of pyrotechnics. A very hungry and very stupid first year decides a sprig of baneberry is a perfectly acceptable snack and is hospitalized with near deadly symptoms for the first month of the school year? Terrible. Magnus would be spending the majority of _that_ year thwarting death at every turn, protecting his students from nothing more deadly than their own stupidity.

And teenagers were quite stupid.

The first injury of the current year had been the most mundane Magnus had ever seen. It had also been the earliest. Students learned by doing, but they also learned by listening, observing, and reading, the three pillars of what Magnus referred to as a “Safe and Satisfying Potions Environment”. The first week with first years was spent with battered old textbooks, and the majority of this time was spent getting to know and understand the most common potion ingredients. It had been the second meeting of double potions with a skittish class of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students, and one very clumsy student had managed to rip his hand open on a stem of rose thorns while studying the theoretical basis for love potions.

Magnus had spent a week rolling this around his head, trying to decipher it. It wasn’t the most telling of accidents, to be sure, and Magnus was certain he was simply going to be spending another year shielding the bumbling fools (meant with no lack of endearment, of course) from their own clumsiness. All in all, it wasn’t a bad year to have.

* * *

 

Teaching had long been the singular passion in Magnus’ life. Magnus referred to that time as “pre-Alexander”. Pre-Alexander years were fun but lonely, filled with nothing but long days of teaching and weekends of ferrying students to and from Hogsmeade. Post-Alexander was a lot more interesting; class periods were bracketed by mornings spent flirting with Alec over his teacup in the Great Hall and evenings spent flirting with Alec as the two of them graded papers in front of a crackling fire. Trips to Hogsmeade were no longer about anxiously flitting around, making sure students weren’t up to no good, but instead spent in the Three Broomsticks, laughing over warm mugs of butterbeer.

“I should probably let you go,” said Alec, eyes following two giggling Gryffindor students as they slipped through the archway leading  to the dungeons. Despite Magnus’ tireless appeals that the dungeons were by no means a decent working environment for young students, the location for Potions had yet to be moved above ground. It was no wonder the Slytherin students had such attitudes, Magnus thought; he, too, would be quite surly if half of his life was spent underground.

The two of them were doing what they often did before a class period; leaning against the brick wall and chatting as students flurried past. Alec had stopped by and caught Magnus on his way to Potions under the pretense of lending him a book. In this case, Magnus assumed that “lending” was code for “gifting”, because he couldn’t quite imagine why Alec would have _One Thousand and Two Uses for Woormwood_ in the first place.  

“So eager to leave,” teased Magnus, running his fingers over the embossed leather of the book cover. At this point, he was going to have to buy a new shelf for Alec’s books alone.

Alec’s mouth turned up in that lopsided, guilty grin of his. “I’d hate to interrupt your precious time with the students.”

“N.E.W.T. students. They’re fine being left alone for a moment or two. In fact, they could probably teach you a thing or two, Professor Lightwood,” continued Magnus, mirroring Alec’s grin, “When, exactly, was the last time you brushed up on your potionmaking skills?”

Alec hummed noncommittally, drumming his fingers against the white stone wall. “It’s been a while.”

“Tsk, tsk, Alexander. Potionmaking is a vital skill _every_ wizard needs under his belt.”

“In that case,” Alec said, sucking in a deep breath, “maybe I could use some one on one time with the Potions Master?”

His cheeks flushed a light pink at that, the way they always did when he was surprised by his own boldness. Magnus could feel his own grin stretching even wider. “I don’t think he’d be opposed to that. For the right price, that is.”

“Yeah?”

Alec never got to hear what that price would be, however; in the space of a few seconds, he was nearly bowled over by a tiny ball of red hair as it rounded the corner. Clary Fairchild looked slightly abashed at the misstep, and covered it with one of her contagious smiles. Less than a second later, the pile-up was compounded by Simon Lewis, who _did_ run into Clary, nearly knocking her over.

“How kind of you to join us, Miss Fairchild, Mister Lewis,” greeted Magnus with a nod of his head and a flourishing gesture toward the dungeon entrance. “Even if you are late.”

“Um,” spluttered Simon, ever the awkward child. Clary, in true Gryffindor fashion, simply grabbed him by the hand and darted toward the entrance.

“Can’t be late if the professor isn’t in the room,” she explained with a mischievous grin, bodily dragging a yelping Simon down the staircase. Less than a few minutes later, Magnus heard a resounding crash that had both him and Alec flinching.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” he said regretfully, drumming his fingers against the book in his hand. “See you later?” He grinned mischievously. “For our potions lesson, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Alec, nodding his head diplomatically. “See you for lunch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Magnus.

* * *

 

The first two hours of Magnus’ day were spent with his N.E.W.T. class. It was the smallest class he taught, composed of a mere thirteen students from mixed houses, their bright faces shining with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It was often his favorite and easiest class of the day as well; sixth year students _generally_ weren’t prone to near-fatal accidents like the first few years, and most of them were there because they wanted to be, rather than because it was compulsory.

The potion for the day was Wiggenwald Potion. N.E.W.T. classes weren’t held in the usual lecture room, but in a much smaller one; students were clustered together in threes, each brewing a mini-cauldron’s worth of the antidote. Magnus’ potion shone a deep and beautiful indigo. The same could not be said for all of his students.

“This is pointless,” declared Raphael Santiago. His potion was a brilliant, deep blue. He possessed an uncanny talent for potionmaking, and thus seemed prone to fits of boredom while he waited for his classmates to catch up. He was already splashing more salamander blood into the potion with a liberal hand, a step ahead of both Magnus and the rest of the class. “Will we ever _need_ to brew Wiggenweld Potion?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Magnus conversationally. He drifted  around the room, keeping an eye on the potions; Simon’s had already gone a hopeless bright green. “Potions, Mister Santiago, isn’t always about practicality. Sometimes, it’s important to study a potion simply to understand such things as heat,” with a wave of his wand, he pointedly shot a blue flame toward the burner underneath Simon’s cauldron, and the boiling potion immediately bubbled into a dark blue, “and timing. Take a few minutes, Mister Lewis, before adding more salamander blood. Potions is an art, but it isn’t an exact art. And sometimes, it’s a matter of life or death. Would you like to hear a story?”

There was a chorus of approval, and Magnus assumed his position in front of his own lightly boiling cauldron. It would take at least another minute or two to stew.

“Once upon a time --”

A loud groan rippled through the classroom.

“--there lived a beloved princess, born to a muggle king and blessed with beauty, wit, and grace. She was the most beloved in the entire kingdom, by all but one. A hag --”

“Isn’t that kind of…not  very PC?”

“This is a fairytale, Miss Fairchild, but I do agree. Go ahead and add a few drops of Salamander blood until the solution turns pink. Mister Santiago, just… carry on.” Magnus followed his own instructions dutifully, watching as the blue of the solution bled into a pale pink. “The princess was the most beloved in the entire kingdom, by all but one. A hag, who had once been in love with the king, grew jealous of the beautiful, adored daughter, and dredged up a curse for the poor girl. After drenching a spinning wheel -- a muggle device used to make thread,” Magnus said, in response to blank looks of confusion staring vacantly up at him, “in Draught of Living Death, she tricked the girl into pricking her finger on the spindle, sending the beautiful princess into a deep sleep.”

“Isn’t this just Sleeping Beauty?” asked Simon Lewis excitedly. His “drops” of salamander blood had become something more of a steady stream. The students from non-muggle families stared at him in confusion.

“Yes. Lighten up on the salamander blood, Mister Lewis. The princess fell into a deep sleep. Distraught, her parents kept her in the tallest tower in the land, and promised her hand in marriage to any suitor who could wake her -- it’s just a fairytale, Miss Fairchild!” Clary’s mouth snapped shut at that, her face still scrunched together as if she wanted to say something. “The princess was in a deep slumber for years --”

“What does this have to do with potionmaking?”

“Patience, Mister Santiago. The rest of you may stir a sprig of mint into the potion. Counterclockwise, seven stirs, and then a dash of moondust. The princess was in a deep slumber for many years. Just when her parents had begun to lose hope, they were approached by a young wizard prince, who recognized the effects of Draught of Living Death. The prince wet his lips with Wiggenweld potion and, with a single kiss, woke the princess.” The dash of moondust cast an opalescent sheen to glimmer across the surface. Magnus added more Salamander blood with a flourish. “And they lived happily ever after. What have we learned from this story?”

“Lewis doesn’t know how to make a decent potion to save his life.” 

Magnus rolled his eyes, but didn’t deny it. “My point, my dear children,” he said, reveling in the way they all scoffed at that, “is that you never know when a seemingly useless potion may help you. It could even lead you to your true love. Or it may not,” he added after a beat. “It is a fairytale.”

“Wouldn’t Amortentia be quicker?” asked Kaelie Whitewillow innocently, deftly stirring her own perfectly pink potion.

“That’s a…. common misconception, Miss Whitewillow,” corrected Magnus, face contorting awkwardly. It was February, and still freezing, but the student body had been ignited with the rapid approach of Valentine’s Day, and Magnus had spent the last few weeks fending off students’ questions surrounding love potions. “There isn’t a love potion in the world strong enough to induce true love, and the imitation pales in comparison to the real thing. And besides,” added Magnus, sending a pointed look around the room, “love potions are quite dangerous. You certainly won’t be learning how to make one in my classroom.”

A couple of the girls looked disappointed at that, sullenly stirring at their potions, but Kaelie just studied Magnus pensively. A lull of quiet fell over the classroom, and Magnus took the chance to glance around at their cauldrons. Simon’s was likely hopeless at this point.

“Have you ever been in love, Professor Bane?” blurted Clary. She looked as though she hadn’t meant to say it, and suddenly her pale cheeks were almost as red as her hair.

Magnus smirked. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, hazel eyes and a lopsided grin flashing in his mind. “That’s quite a personal question, Miss Fairchild. I have certainly been subjected to a love potion before. Would you like to hear another story?”

And so, the morning went on as usual, with Magnus sharing his many stories with his most advanced students as he guided them through one of the most difficult potions in the book, and the class concluded without any minor explosions, though Simon’s potion _did_ smoke ominously at one point.

* * *

 

Magnus did not see Alec for lunch.

He was intercepted on his way to the Great Hall by a red-cheeked, heavy breathing Clary Fray. She nearly bowled into him in that charming way of hers. With a frown, Magnus brought an arm up to steady her.

“Biscuit, really, you’re a bit old to be running in the halls--”

“It’s Simon, Professor,” exclaimed Clary in a rush, grabbing onto the sleeve of Magnus’ robe, “there’s something wrong with him, he’s -- there’s something wrong with him, I don’t--”

“Breathe, Biscuit,” warned Magnus, a sense of dread settling heavily over him.

Clary obeyed. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and counted to ten, before exhaling shakily. Her green eyes snapped open with renewed determination. “There’s something wrong with Simon, professor,” she repeated firmly, tugging at Magnus’ sleeve. “He’s with Madame Loss in the infirmary, but I don’t… I think you’re probably the best person for this job. I think this is a little out of Madame Loss’ hands.”

Magnus’ brow furrowed at that. Catarina Loss was the best healer in Hogwarts; she was possibly the best healer in the entire country, but she thankfully found solace in healing students’ broken bones and helping them regrow singed eyebrows. There was hardly an injury or an ailment that she couldn’t cure.

“Miss Fairchild,” said Magnus slowly, “what, exactly, is wrong with Mister Lewis?”

Clary’s face contorted comically. “You really should see this, professor,” she said, and then she yanked on the sleeve of his robe again, dragging him down the hallway and past the nosy eyes of a passing group of Ravenclaw students.

A few wrong turns and a few shifting staircases later, Magnus found himself in the hospital wing. The majority of the beds were empty, but the entire wing was filled with a babbling chatter, interrupted only by the occasional spells of retching. Magnus wrinkled his nose in disgust. Clary took one look at his face, rolled her eyes, and dragged him further into the Hospital Wing.

At the end of the wing, Catarina Loss stood tall and proud -- and exhausted. Magnus could see why; seated on the last bed, without a privacy curtain, sat Simon Lewis, a wastebin clutched to his chest. He was speaking at a rapid speed, pausing every now and again only to unceremoniously vomit into the bin.

“Professor Bane,” greeted Catarina, “what a relief.”

Magnus arched an eyebrow at that. “Is it?”

“Yes,” said Clary.

Catarina clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to leave this one to you. I’ve got some other patients,” she said, nodding towards the entryway, where two Hufflepuff students were propping up a third on their shoulders. She took her leave briskly, no doubt trying to put as much distance between herself and Simon’s motormouth as possible.

With a sigh, Magnus turned back to the bed. “Hello, Simon,” he said gently. 

“It’s just _you_ ,” interrupted Simon sullenly. Magnus turned to him in surprise, raising an eyebrow. The poor kid was sitting bolt upright in bed, wastebin clutched to his chest, face a little green around the edges. On closer inspection, Magnus saw that he was, quite literally, strapped to the metal limbs of the headboard. Simon looked at Catarina’s shrinking form accusatorily, eyes brimming with tears. “Where is _she_ , I thought Madame Loss was sending for _her_. I can’t live without her!” he wailed.

“Miss Fairchild is right here,” said Magnus slowly, gesturing toward the other student with one arm. Despite Simon’s best efforts, his crush on Clary was no secret to the students and the faculty of Hogwarts. He’d been harboring it probably since the day the two of them met, as fresh little first years. It was quite the topic of gossip among the students and, occasionally, among the less professional of the faculty. “She’s the one who brought me.”

“I’m not talking about _Clary_ ,” said a scandalized Simon in disgust. “I don’t want to see _Clary_.” Magnus blinked, taken aback by the revulsion with which Simon spat the name.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Simon,” said Clary, rolling her eyes.

“I’m talking about _her_ ,” Simon said in response, a beatific smile breaking across his young face. “ _Kaelie..._ ”

“Miss Whitewillow?” Asked Magnus in surprise. The two had shared classes for most of their years at Hogwarts, but Magnus had yet to see a positive interaction between the two. He wasn’t even sure Kaelie knew Simon existed.

“Who else?! Oh, Kaelie.. Beautiful Kaelie! I’m in love with her. I love her s--” Simon interrupted himself by retching directly into the bin in front of him.

“Uh-huh.” Magnus turned to Clary, who watched her friend with tight lips. “What did he take?”

“A love potion,” said Clary, the silent _duh_ hanging heavily in the air. “I don’t know what it was. He got -- he got these chocolates by owl, this morning,” she said, wringing her hands. “He thought it was from an admirer -- it’s almost Valentines Day, you know -- and so, um, he ate them. Like a lot of them. And then he just started talking about Kaelie, and he just wouldn’t shut up about her, and he just wanted to see her, which _obviously_ wasn’t going to happen, I wasn’t about to let him just go wandering around the dungeons, and I smelled the chocolates and I just… kind of knew.” A slight blush rose up her fair cheeks. “They smelled _really_ good.”

“I’m sure they did,” said Magnus, furrowing his brow. “Miss Fairchild, do you mean to tell me that Mister Lewis ingested half a box of chocolates infused with _Amortentia_?”

Clary nodded. Magnus groaned.

“Wonderful. So, Lewis took a love potion. Would you care to tell me why, exactly, he keeps --”

Simon interrupted with a retch.

“ -- doing _that_.”

“Um.” Clary fiddled with a lock of bright hair, eyes darting toward the bed, after Catarina, up at the ceiling, anywhere but Magnus’ burning eyes. “That’s… kinda… my fault.” She met Magnus’ stare slowly, and then deflated. “I just… I mean, we never _really_ studied love potions, you know, and I thought… if I just… made something with the opposite ingredients I could…. kind of negate it?”

“Biscuit, no,” groaned Magnus, running a hand through his immaculately styled hair. His red streak was beginning to turn white. “ Golpalott’s Third Law, Miss Fairchild.”

“I thought that was just for mixed poisons!”

“The same general rule applies; you can’t just…. brew the exact opposite of a potion and expect it to fix things. No wonder poor Simon is sick.”

They both turned to look at the patient in question. Simon seemed to have exhausted himself with vomiting, and now he leaned pathetically back against the headboard, calling desperately to seeKaelie. Clary rolled her eyes. “Can you…. fix him? Because if he doesn’t stop soon, _I’m_ gonna throw up.”

Magnus let out a sigh. His mind wistfully drifted to his lunch date with Alexander; he could be sitting somewhere on the Hogwarts grounds, eating lunch pilfered from the Great Hall and relaxing with arguably the only other reasonable individual in the entire school. And the best looking. That was far, far out the door. “I don’t know what I can do about… _that_ ,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bin. “I can brew an antidote, though. It shouldn’t take too long. Just…. keep him here.”

Grinning, Clary tapped her fingers against the restraints. “Already ahead of you, Professor!”

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

Magnus was in the stock room collecting ingredients when the second victim of the day waltzed in, dreamy-eyed and smiling.

“Oh,” said Raphael hazily, eyes glazed over. “You’re not Kaelie..”

Less than a moment later, he was dragged backwards out of the stock room by the neck of his robes. Magnus watched, puzzled, and followed the student out, a jar of Wiggentree twigs clenched in his hand.

“If you just sit here, and you wait really patiently, Kaelie will be right down,” Lily Chen explained to Raphael, unkindly shoving him onto a stool. Raphael smiled lazily. It was quite strange, Magnus had to admit; he had been Raphael’s teacher for six years, and he had never seen such an indescribably fond look on the young wizard’s face. In fact, Magnus could probably count the times he had seen Raphael smile on his hands. It was a bit uncomfortable.

“This is where Kaelie sat,” said Raphael dreamily, tracing circles with his finger onto the dark wood of the table in front of him.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” She turned to Magnus, a look of desperation on her face. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I think Raphael took a --”

“--love potion?”

Lily nodded. “He got these chocolates by owl this morning, he thought it was from his little sister,” she explained, “but after that, all he could talk about was _Kaelie_. And he can’t stand Kaelie.”

“I’m quite aware,” said Magnus. He turned to Raphael and frowned; the young wizard was using his wand to burn Kaelie’s name into the table, enveloping it in a heart. Next to it, in large, loopy cursive, was, _MR. AND MRS. KAELIE WHITEWILLOW._

At least he wasn’t running his mouth like Simon had been; instead, he kept casting wistful looks out the tiny dungeon window, as if the murky, green depths of the Great Lake could somehow summon Kaelie to him. It was almost entertaining. Magnus was certain he was going to kill someone once the whole thing was over.

When Rafael started burning cheesy poetry into the table, Magnus intervened.

“Mister Santiago --”

“Professor, what rhymes with Kaelie _?_ ” Rafael asked. After a moment, he snapped his fingers. “My lady,” he said reverently, and then began carving into the table with renewed vigor.

“Mister Santiago,” Magnus repeated. “Why don’t you let Miss Chen accompany you to the hospital wing?”

“The hospital wing? Why?” asked Rafael distractedly. And then, after a moment, he sat straight upright, a look of terror passing over his young features. “Is Kaelie in the hospital wing? Is she hurt?”

“She’s going to be,” muttered Lily darkly, and Rafael shot her a murderous glare.

“I swear to God, if Kaelie is hurt --”

“She is,” Magnus cut in, “but… not too badly. I think she’d love to see you.

“Me?” breathed Rafael.

“Yes, you, Mister Santiago,” said Magnus seriously. Rafael stumbled off of the stool, completely oblivious to the mangled state he had left Magnus’ table in, and started walking toward the stairs as if in a stupor. Lily frowned.

“Miss Chen, would you please accompany him to the hospital wing and let Catarina know about his… affliction?”

“Wait, so you’re not going to--”

“I’m already brewing an antidote,” Magnus explained. He heard muffled thumping from the stairwell, followed by swearing, and Rafael’s wand came rolling down the steps and into the room. Lily raised an eyebrow. “Mister Santiago isn’t the only… victim,” said Magnus, for lack of a better word.

Understanding flashed through Lily’s eyes. “Merlin’s beard,” she muttered.

“I trust you won’t tell the rest of the student body,” said Magnus. Lily had always had a calm head, good in a crisis, but this wasn’t the kind of thing you could just tell a teenager and expect not to spread to the entire school. “For Mister Santiago’s sake?”

“I guess,” said Lily, stooping to grab Rafael’s wand off the ground. She trudged up the steps, and Magnus could hear more muffled thumping, and then the sound of something  that sounded like a human body being half-dragged up the stairs.

Magnus groaned, pulled out the largest cauldron he could find, and set to work.

* * *

 

An hour later, and Magnus found himself on his knees in one of the herbology greenhouses, desperately digging for Gurdyroots. He had sworn when he had opened a jar of it in the stockroom, only to find that it had gone bad with age. The last thing he needed to do was kill a student, and so instead he was on the ground in the greenhouse in the middle of February, furiously digging up Gurdyroot with his bare hands. At this point, he would be lucky if he found even one that was ready; he had already pulled half a dozen up by their stalks, only to find them comically small or blighted.

Dot Rollins, the herbology professor, had been too busy with a class of third years to help him, and Magnus was certain that she was going to murder him the second she walked in and saw the wreckage of her greenhouse. But in the end it was all going to be worth it, Magnus thought triumphantly as he finally closed his hand around exactly what he was looking for -- a huge, green, foul-smelling bulb. It was, of course, the very last one he had pulled up, and he felt a twinge of guilt as he fled the greenhouse, but to be fair -- he didn’t have a lot of time, and this certainly qualified as an emergency.

By the time he made it back into the castle, he looked like a wreck -- which was, of course, when he ran into Alec.

“Magnus, are you alright?”

Magnus was decidedly _not_ alright. He looked down. His hands were caked in dirt up to the elbow, and dangling from one of them was the enormous Gurdyroot. His robes -- one of his favorite sets, a beautiful, rich green pin-pricked with a subtle brocade, a gift from Ragnor -- were absolutely soiled. The bottom was soaked with wet snow and crumbling dirt from the herbology greenhouse, and there were two huge patches of mud settled over his kneecaps. His hair was wet, and had begun to droop sadly down over his forehead. A fat drop of water dripped down onto his nose.

Magnus’ heart fell. “I forgot lunch.”

“I -- what? That’s fine.” Alec frowned. He, of course, looked pristine; other than his eternally messy hair, Alec was immaculate, his dark robes perfectly crisp and clean and free of any suspicious mud stains. “Magnus, you’re soaking.”  

Magnus bit back an inappropriate retort at that. He could feel the curious eyes of students on him. “With good reason. I’m so sorry about lunch, Alexander--”

“-- Magnus, it’s fine -- why are you --”

“I can’t talk now, I’m afraid,” apologized Magnus. He could feel the seconds falling down through the hourglass, knowing that if he didn’t get back as soon as possible, it would be too late to add the Gurdyroot extract. He was tempted to reach out and pat Alec’s cheek, but he had already made enough of a bad impression without smearing mud all over Alec’s beautiful face. “I’ll make it up to you this evening, Alec. We can go to the Three Broomsticks, how does that sound?”

“What?”

“I’ll see you later,” said Magnus firmly, and then took off back down the hall, scattering students as he went by.

* * *

 

 The situation was more dire than Magnus had originally thought.

While attempting to make the potion, he had been interrupted by no less than seven students, and he began to suspect that Kaelie had sent chocolates to every single boy in her year. And a few girls. He had returned to his classroom to find Helen Blackthorn mitigating a physical dispute between Aline Penhallow and her cousin, Sebastian Verlac. They had gone straight for the muggle way of settling disputes when it became obvious that neither of them was willing to let the other have Kaelie, and by the time Magnus sent them to the infirmary Sebastian sported a particularly nasty shiner that would most likely develop into a magnificent black eye.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the wide-eyed class of second years in the room. Magnus had dispelled them immediately, asking them to inform the rest of their houses that all potions classes were canceled for the day, and they had been delighted enough to leave of their own volition.

When he had reached for the castor oil, only to find the bottle empty, Magnus began to suspect that someone had intentionally raided his supply closet. He cursed, and spent the rest of the afternoon running across the grounds for ingredients.

* * *

 

By the time Magnus made it back to the Hospital Wing, he looked like a lunatic. His robes were caked with dirt, his hair was shifting colors with the sheer stress of the situation, and his face was smudged with glowing streaks of powdered moonstone. He kept his head held high as he stormed in, carrying an enormous cauldron of love potion antidote.

Magnus had witnessed a lot in his life. He hadn’t always been a teacher, after all. Most of his professional life had been spent traveling the world, putting his skills to good use and getting in trouble along the way. The first magical creature he had ever seen had been a thestral, and he had been (wrongfully, he might add) banned from Peru after a rather disastrous mishap involving a basilisk he had been hired to get rid of. In his life, Magnus had encountered dragons, manticores, ghouls, and trolls.

Magnus would have gladly taken on any of them again if it meant he didn’t have to stand in a room full of a couple dozen teenagers poisoned by a love potion. Every single bed in the infirmary was filled. Some of the patients were strapped down, and others were simply held at bay by friends or nurses. A few were passed out, exhausted by their own efforts. The sound of their wailing was that of a banshee. There had been a few seconds of silence when Magnus walked in, only to roar back into a cacophony moments later.

“Merlin, I’m so glad you’re here,” said Catarina, extricating herself from a teary-eyed teenager and gliding over to Magnus.

“It’s Magnus,” Magnus joked weakly. Catarina rolled her eyes.

Clary came bounding over to them. This time, she stopped herself just before she could smack into anyone. “Do you have the antidote?”

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Clary rolled her eyes. “And leave Si alone? No way.” Her gaze darted down to the cauldron. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” said Magnus. “Would you like to help me?”

The three of them set off through the room, ladling spoonfuls of the potion into cups and handing them over to students. Raphael accepted his graciously when it was told that it had been lovingly made by Kaelie especially for him. Once it began to work, he nearly spat it out in revulsion, demanding why he was being poisoned. Aline Penhallow had stubbornly refused to even open her mouth to drink it, until finally soft-spoken and kind Helen held Aline’s nose closed and poured the potion down her mouth. After witnessing that treatment, Sebastian had done as told. Aline asked, wondrously, why he had such an awful black eye.

The room was slowly coming to its senses around them. Simon was the very last one left. He had stopped throwing up since Magnus had seen him last, and the wastebin had been whisked away somewhere. It looked like his restraints had been undone, too. He lay curled up on his infirmary bed miserably, mumbling absently about Kaelie to himself.

“Simon?” asked Clary, nudging his arm.

“Clary?” asked Simon, sounding as if he had just woken up. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes. He looked around wildly. “Who’re all these people? Where’s Kaelie?”

Clary rolled her eyes. “Kaelie will be here soon, Si.”

Simon looked tortured. He stared up at her with wide, sad eyes. “You’ve said that so many times, Clary. Where is she? If I don’t see her, I’ll die.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clary muttered. Magnus set the cauldron on the bedside table, and ladled a helping of it into one of the infirmary mugs. It was clear, almost like water except for the way it sparkled like a rainbow when hit by the light. Clary held out a hand, and Magnus passed her the mug.

Simon frowned. “What’s that?”

“It’s from Kaelie,” said Clary, holding it out to Simon. “She made it for you.”

Simon took it tentatively. “She’s so smart, isn’t she? She’s so good at potions.”

Clary watched him lift the potion to his lips, muttering, “You have _no_ idea.”

Clary, Magnus, and Catarina watched as Simon gulped the potion down greedily. After a moment, he began to cough. Clary took the mug from his hand and gave him a few hearty smacks on the back (probably with more strength than was needed).

“Oh my God,” moaned Simon. “Why does my mouth taste like a graveyar-- Clary?!” He cut himself off, eyes going wide as Clary threw her arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. He gingerly accepted, patting her on the back with a confused look on her face. “What’s going on?”

Clary pulled back, and then punched him in the arm. “Simon! How could you?”

“What did I do? Why am I in the hospital wing.”

“Well, I believe that’s my cue,” said Magnus, replacing the wrought iron lid on the cauldron. He tapped his wand against the lid and it disappeared. He began making his way back through the infirmary. “Madame Loss, if you happen to come along any other victims, you can find the remains of the antidote in your office. I believe I have other business to attend to.”

Catarina nodded knowingly. “Hot date?”

“Maybe later,” said Magnus in a low voice, darting his gaze around to make sure none of the students had overheard.

“You two are going to just dance around each other for another year, aren’t you?”

Magnus laughed humorlessly at that. “I won’t survive that long. You’ll need to keep me alive.”

“I thought I was already doing that,” joked Catarina. She gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You’ll get there eventually.”

Magnus shrugged noncommittally. He  glanced around the room of bleary-eyed teenagers. He had enough to do without throwing his own life love into the mix.

 

* * *

 

“ _Suspension_?” Kaelie stared at Magnus in disbelief and folded her arms. “It was a harmless prank!”

“I believe your victims would beg to differ, Miss Whitewillow,” said Magnus. They were in his personal office. A mountain of chocolate boxes was piled high on his desk, stacked precariously next to a small, bubbling cauldron of pearly Amortentia. The room smelled amazing; a tantalizing mix of heady Jasmine, a rich blend of spices he recognized from his mother’s kitchen, and, curiously, sandalwood shampoo. “This is very dangerous magic. Love potions are capable of destroying lives, especially one as strong as Amortentia.” Magnus looked pointedly at the spiral tendrils of steam rising from the cauldron. As a teacher, he was admittedly a little impressed. It was a very difficult potion to master, especially without instruction

Kaelie rolled her eyes. “It’s not like anyone got hurt.”

“Miss Whitewillow,” said Magnus patiently, leaning forward in his high-backed desk chair, “your harmless prank has intoxicated nearly every young man in your year, and a few of the girls. It has disrupted regular classes for nearly every student at Hogwarts, filled the Hospital Wing to capacity, and has cost me precious resources and time. You’re very fortunate Headmistress Herondale is away on business. I can’t imagine her punishment would be as generous as mine.”

Kaelie set her jaw and fiddled with the collar of her robes. “You can’t suspend me.”

“But I can,” came a voice from the doorway, and both student and professor turned their heads. Ragnor Fell, Head of Slytherin, stood there, resplendently dressed in deep green robes as always. He looked Magnus up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance and his now green hair and said, “You look terrible. Love the hair color.” Magnus made a face.

“Professor,” started Kaelie, rising from her feet. The blood seemed to have drained from her face. “I--”

“Miss Whitewillow, I have already been informed of the situation,” said Ragnor, turning his judgmental gaze from Magnus to Kaelie. “What on earth were you thinking? No, don’t respond. You clearly weren’t. Professor Bane’s punishment stands. You will be suspended from Hogwarts for two weeks --”

“-- _two? --_ ”

“-- and your Hogsmeade privileges will be revoked until May.”

“And fifty points from Slytherin.”

“And fifty points from --” Ragnor cut himself off, turning to glare at Magnus. Magnus lifted a challenging eyebrow, and Ragnor let out a strangled sigh, and turned back to Kaelie. “Fifty points from Slytherin,” he begrudgingly agreed. His face contorted for a moment in thought, and then he added, “and another ten for disrespecting Professor Bane.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It is fair,” said Ragnor. “You’ve been a menace and endangered your peers. Now, I have to write to your parents, and you should probably pack your bags. Come along,” he waved a hand, and as if pulled by a string, Kaelie stood. She learned forward to grab the chocolates. Magnus shooed her hand away with his wand.

“They’re mine --”

“-- and you shouldn’t have had them in the first place. I’m going to destroy them.”

Kaelie huffed irritably and stormed out of the room in a swirl of robes and a cloud of teenage irritability.

Ragnor rolled his eyes. He sniffed the air. “It smells great in here.”

Magnus tapped the cauldron with his wand. “Amortentia.”

“I hope she wasn’t too much of a nuisance,” said Ragnor.

“It’s fine,” said Magnus breezily. “She only poisoned three dozen students and interrupted my lunch date.”

“I wondered why I didn’t see you and Lightwood mooning over one another in the Great Hall today,” said Ragnor. He picked up a box of chocolates and examined it, then casually dropped it back onto Magnus’ desk, only to pick up a paperweight to study. “Maybe I should rethink that suspension.”

Magnus rolled his eyes.

“You two are sickening.”

“Your input is, as always, highly unnecessary,” said Magnus. He smacked at Ragnor’s nosy hands with his wand, batting him away from the many objects littering the desk.

“How rude,” said Ragnor. “I suppose I should go write her parents.”

“You do that.”

“Parents are always the worst,” Ragnor grumbled. “Do something about those robes of yours.”

And with that, he turned from the small office room, disappearing to wherever he came from.

Finally alone, Magnus let out a sigh and peered out at his office. Low afternoon light filtered in through the latticed windows, casting a warm glow over his messy office. Magnus tapped the With a lazy flick of his wrist, he ignited the fireplace and leaned back in his chair. He stared up at the vaulted ceiling, exhausted from the day’s events, and let his eyes close for just a moment.

* * *

 

“Magnus? C’mon, Magnus, hey,” came a soft voice. A gentle hand shook him by the shoulder, and Magnus blinked awake. He could feel his eyes shifting with each blink; blue, red, snake, green, owl, hazel, and then finally, if the brightness was anything to go on, yellow-gold cat eyes.

Standing above him, limned in the soft light from the fireplace, was Alec. He smiled gently down at Magnus. It must be after classes had ended, becauses his traditional robes had been abandoned in favor of muggle jeans and a winter coat. Magnus bolted upright.

“Did I sleep through dinner?”

“No,” said Alec, still smiling. “You didn’t come to get me, so I came to get you.”

Magnus let out a sigh of relief. He ran his hand over his face, and it came away shining, still streaked with remains of moondust. Magnus grimaced and looked down at his still muddy robes. He ran a hand through his hair. It was a mess. He wasn’t even sure what color it was.

Alec laughed at Magnus’ obvious annoyance. He slid his wand from the pocket of his coat and muttered a cleaning charm, waving his wand over the soiled fabric of Magnus’ robes. The gesture flooded Magnus with warmth, both from the heat of the magic and the long forgotten feeling of being taken care of.

“There,” said Alec, and glanced down at his work approvingly. His eyes darted to Magnus’ face; he playfully tapped his wand against Magnus’ forehead, banishing the moondust.

“Thank you,” said Magnus. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I don’t even know what color my hair is.”

“There’s some blue,” Alec said. “It looks nice.”

Magnus smiled, and pinched at the inner corners of his eyes, concentrating on shifting them back to their usual brown.

“You don’t have to do that,” said Alec, brushing his fingers against Magnus’ wrist.

“It’s fine,” said Magnus. He blinked his eyes twice, and they were brown again. “They’re a little overwhelming when it’s still light out. It is still light out, right?” He glanced to the window. The sun had begun to sink, and the view of the sky from the tower was streaked with a pale orange.

“It’s almost six,” Alec said. “There’s still a bit of time left.” He hesitated, shifting away from where he stood over Magnus. “You’ve had a long day. If you’re too tired, we don’t have to--”

“No,” said Magnus hastily. “I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you.” He rose from his chair. “I just have to take care of a few things first. It won’t be too long.”

Alec smiled, slow and easy. “I can wait.”

He wandered around Magnus’ office as Magnus flitted about, cleaning up from the earlier mess. The love potion debacle felt like it had been a hundred years ago, and yet he remembered it all too vividly. He was sure he’d have to write up some kind of report when everything was over, but that was the last thing he wanted to think about. All he wanted to think about at the moment was him and Alec sharing warm butterbeer and good conversation by a fire.

“It smells nice in here,” Alec commented from where he stood, admiring a tapestry from one of Magnus’ many travels.

“It does,” Magnus agreed. The room was still perfumed like jasmine in the night air, and the scent of sandalwood had only increased since Alec’s arrival. It was nearly intoxicating. He swished his wand, muttering a quick “ _Evanesco,”_ and the boxes of chocolate vanished, disappearing somewhere into non-being.

“Like wood polish,” said Alec idly, moving instead to look at a bookshelf. Nearly half of the shelf was comprised of his gifts. “And rain.”

Magnus shook his head fondly. “We’ve hardly seen the sun in months, and you still like the smell of rain?”

Alec snorted. “I’ve had enough of the snow, that’s for sure. It’s different.” He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the back of the book, half turned toward Magnus. “It’s like the first day of rain after a long summer. It’s… refreshing,” he finally settled on.

Magnus paused his ministrations for a moment, content to sit and watch the familiarity with which Alec drifted through his office. Relaxed, clad in muggle clothes with a book in his hand, he didn’t seem like the disciplined teacher who both inspired and infuriated students, nor the dignified pureblood noble his parents had raised him to be. He was just Alec, the kind, awkward young man who had stumbled into Magnus’ life a few years ago, like an answer to a question Magnus hadn’t even thought to ask.

Magnus twirled his wand in his hand for a moment, eyeing the cauldron of Amortentia. He wondered if it would be better to save a vial of evidence. He decided against it and waved his wand over the cauldron with practiced ease.

Alec tilted his head, humming. He took a deep breath. “It smells like that cologne you like,” he said offhandedly, still flipping through the book.

Magnus dropped his wand in the cauldron. The Amortentia dwindled away rapidly, leaving behind only Magnus’ slightly damp wand and the wafting scent of jasmine, spices, and sandalwood. The room was filled with the sound of the crackling fire on the hearth, and the rifling of pages as Alec flicked through a book.

The cologne in question was a muggle fragrance that Magnus had been wearing for years. It was hard enough getting away from Hogwarts for an evening in Hogsmeade; getting to any kind of muggle shopping center during the school year was like leaving for another continent. Magnus had run out of the cologne a month ago, and no matter how many refilling charms he tried, none of it was the same. He was stuck smelling like parchment and potions for a month.

Magnus looked up at Alec, examining his handsome portfolio. Alec’s hazel eyes, lit by the fire, were trained on a passage in the book. He handled it with the same attentive care he gave to everything he did. It was the same way he patiently taught students how to master a Patronus charm, and the same way he quietly cared for Magnus, once Magnus had finally let him in. Alec wasn’t perfect, but he was kind and considerate and caring, and in the few years they had known one another, he had ignited something in Magnus that Magnus hadn’t thought himself capable of.

Waves of sandalwood still rolled through the room. Magnus’ heart clenched painfully at Alec’s quiet words, wondering if he realized the weight of them. An uncertain and bittersweet warmth flooded through Magnus, a revelation. There wasn’t a love potion in the world that could compare to what he felt for Alec. He only hoped that Alec felt the same.

As if sensing the weight Magnus’ gaze, Alec looked up from his book. He caught Magnus’ eyes and smiled at him, closing the book. “All done?”

“Yes,” said Magnus softly. He retrieved his wand from the cauldron and stood.

“You’re not going to change your clothes?”

Any other time, Magnus would have shot a flirtatious remark, but it didn’t seem right. He had been blinded with attraction to Alec from the moment they met, but he could feel the warmth of his revelation seeping through him, and it didn’t seem right. “After all the trouble you went to cleaning me up? This will do just fine.”

Alec closed the book and gently placed it back on the shelf. Magnus muttered a quick charm over the two of them, infusing their clothing with warmth for the long, cold walk ahead. He pressed a gentle hand to the small of Alec’s back, motioning him to go on ahead.

“So,” said Alec. “You had quite a day.”

Magnus sighed dramatically, earning a laugh from Alec.

“Where do I even start?”

“The beginning, maybe?”

Memories of the morning flashed through Magnus’ head. Alec’s bright eyes in the winter light as he passed Magnus a new book, and the familiar, teasing conversation shared between the two of them as they waited for students to flurry by. He thought of every morning the two of them had shared since Alec’s arrival -- laughter and tea in the Great Hall, quiet walks about the grounds in the early morning light, exhausted glances over breakfast after a long night spent reigning students in from whatever trouble they had gotten themselves into. All the way back to that first morning they had met, Alec breathless and beautiful in the autumn sun, every single day had brought Magnus closer to where he was now: hopelessly in love with Alec.

Magnus’ mouth curved into a smile. The beginning was an excellent place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you hate it? Did it make you laugh? Make you cry? Please let me know! I love hearing feedback, and as I said, this will most likely be part of a series, so the more you say, the more I know what kind of things people are looking for. Not gonna beg, but feedback really keeps a lot of fic writers going!
> 
> If you wanna chat with me, my shadowhunters blog is magnicmagnus on tumblr, and my main blog is aziraphvle. I'd love to hear from you! If you hit me up on my sideblog, you might just get some headcanons, teases, and tidbits for the rest of this verse! Or just Harry Potter trivia. I have plenty of that. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, hope you had fun!


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